... building a stairway to heaven...
atom by atom ...
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
cubi•line•ar ...
Yes, cubelinearly speaking, all lines lend themselves to the curvilinear.
Izzatso...? 
Friday, January 28, 2011
water painting ...
mountains and waves, whitecaps and snow caps, the air is crisp and refreshing.
Santa Fe is renewal time, my painting takes me back ...
Thursday, January 27, 2011
L'autre moi-même du señor Elías Bidón
.
.
Elías Bidón was born in the minuscule hamlet of Bestiole, in the province of León, in the northwest of Spain; his father, Truculento Bidón, gave Elías coffee to drink since his most tender childhood, thick and spumous black coffee, something too rare for a child his age...Elías, probably exacerbated by the effects of the abundant, spumy and hot infusion he used to drink everyday, turned into a brusque and intractable child at the age of 6, and finally, into a troglodytical, crusty, ill-humored adolescent, at the age of 15.
As the time went by, Elías Bidón got totally absorbed into his addiction to coffee, somedays drinking up to 15 litres of this spirituous beverage: in any other person, this attitude would destroy his nerves, and he would end hospitalized, but Elías Bidón had a superhuman tolerance to coffeine, and nothing happened to him; even more: the quantity seemed to be insufficient, and it was increased day after day.
At the age of 40, Elías Bidón lived alone in a flat in Madrid, at that stage he usually drank 29 litres of coffee a day, and contrarily to the normality, such quantity of coffee, which would kill an elephant in some weeks, seemed to give him an iron health.
By those times Elías Bidón started experimenting with his infusions: he started adding garlic to the coffee, then onion, then mashed tangerines, all stirred together into a big, a giant pot full of boiling coffee...some time after these experiments started, nauseating smells started inundating, first his flat, and then, the whole floor, and the building in its entirety.
The neighbors were quite fed up of this crap, and searching, they quickly realized that all that fetid aroma came from the flat of Elías Bidón; finally one day, when the smell was too offensive, and with some neighbors already having faints, they called for the police.
Bidón was forced to leave the building: in his flat were found tons of rotting tangerines, garlics and hundreds of empty coffee packs.
The same happened to Elías Bidón, all along the whole geography of Spain, and in dozens of different flats: he always was obliged to leave, because his smells were insufferable: Elías Bidón lived in 47 different provinces, out of the 50 that Spain has.
When he was 70, notwithstanding he was an old person, Elías Bidón used to drink an average of 55-60 litres of coffee a day, quite a brutal amount of liquid and coffeine that he kept on swallowing on a daily basis, and which would have been lethal for any living being: not for him.
Finally Elías Bidón was expulsed of Spain, and at the age of 80 found refuge in a southern city of France called Bordeaux. By those times, Bidón won the EuroMillions, un jeu de loterie joué chaque semaine le vendredi par des millions de Euros, and also won 21.000.000 € of the Loterias y Apuestas del Estado in Spain and Camelot in the United Kingdom: with this golpe de suerte, Elías Bidón amassed 31.000.000 €, and at the age of 81, he bought the whole building where he lived: the neighbors sold their flats willingly, because they couldn't stand the smell anymore.
But something strange, something obscure; something totally unexpected started happening in the physiognomy of Elías Bidón...lately, the Elías Bidón's experiments went too far: besides of garlic, tangerines and many other things, he started adding other things to his bacchanalia of boiling coffees: grease, chicken, toronjas, bacon, grapes, banana, fromage à pâte molle, vin de Carcassone, sweet potato, azafrán, Irish whiskey, pate de foie gras, tapiocca, french fries, Argentinean churrasco or putrid magdalenas were just some of the ingredients he started adding to his coffee...one day he even added bleach to the coffee...
At the peak of his extravagant coffeine orgies, one night while sleeping, Elías Bidón had a tremendous nightmare: he dreamt hat he was...first his legs, then his torso, then his arms...he was...
Elías Coffee woke up in a shout.
He walked to the kitchen, he needed some coffee.
As his orgiastic Saturnalias of rancid coffees kept going on
like a cassette of days and days and days and days.
Like a coffee of days and days and days and days...Elías Bidón added -even- more fury and ingredients to his cafés: ñame (an African exotic sort of sweet potato?), teff (a strange mix of tea and coffee from Sudan?), mandioca (sort of sweet potato from Paraguay?), ass of gnu (I think that the gnu is like a buffalo from South Africa?), yerba mate or hierba mathé (a lethal infusion drank in Îles Malouines), Bof (fried lungs of monkey prepared in Papua New Guinea), chanvre, patchouly, morfina, ajonjolí, asbestos, blood of pork, ricotta, eau lourde, saucisson Espagnol, cheesecake, mayonnaise, shepherd's pie de Londres, shepherd's pie de Escocia, cottage cheese and cider.
At this stage, his days turned into an insatiable orgy of coffe and the most insane ingredients, and as he used to drink almost 70 litres of coffee a day, his mental sanity finally was broken, and he started murmuring and talking alone, he grumbled and growled strange words, always the same words: "femme très méchante, harpie, mégère, sorcière, harengère, teigne, gorgone, tigresse, femme violente, je suis très en colère, eh, eh! Pute! Merde! Cul a terre!"
Etc.
Very, very strange words indeed.
One day nobody saw Elías Bidón anymore, he stopped going to buy his coffee and his garlic, and many things he used to buy: someone reported to the police that in the Elías Bidón's building members of ETA stored explosives; and a judge granted the police a search warrant for the house...they were ringing the bell of Bidón for a while but nobody replied, then they entered by force.
Arriving at the Elías Bidón's door, 4 officers knocked his door.
The silence echoed, nobody replied...the smell was insurmountably repugnant:
entering by force at his flat, the policemen screamed with horror:
a wooden man, or a coffe tree with human shape, it was seated on a chair, stammering, babbling, almost immobile but still alive; his head looked like a brown pumpkin: his eyes were two red, small and shiny coffee cherries that shined in the dark, in front of a dark mirror.
.
.
Elías Bidón was born in the minuscule hamlet of Bestiole, in the province of León, in the northwest of Spain; his father, Truculento Bidón, gave Elías coffee to drink since his most tender childhood, thick and spumous black coffee, something too rare for a child his age...Elías, probably exacerbated by the effects of the abundant, spumy and hot infusion he used to drink everyday, turned into a brusque and intractable child at the age of 6, and finally, into a troglodytical, crusty, ill-humored adolescent, at the age of 15.
As the time went by, Elías Bidón got totally absorbed into his addiction to coffee, somedays drinking up to 15 litres of this spirituous beverage: in any other person, this attitude would destroy his nerves, and he would end hospitalized, but Elías Bidón had a superhuman tolerance to coffeine, and nothing happened to him; even more: the quantity seemed to be insufficient, and it was increased day after day.
At the age of 40, Elías Bidón lived alone in a flat in Madrid, at that stage he usually drank 29 litres of coffee a day, and contrarily to the normality, such quantity of coffee, which would kill an elephant in some weeks, seemed to give him an iron health.
By those times Elías Bidón started experimenting with his infusions: he started adding garlic to the coffee, then onion, then mashed tangerines, all stirred together into a big, a giant pot full of boiling coffee...some time after these experiments started, nauseating smells started inundating, first his flat, and then, the whole floor, and the building in its entirety.
The neighbors were quite fed up of this crap, and searching, they quickly realized that all that fetid aroma came from the flat of Elías Bidón; finally one day, when the smell was too offensive, and with some neighbors already having faints, they called for the police.
Bidón was forced to leave the building: in his flat were found tons of rotting tangerines, garlics and hundreds of empty coffee packs.
The same happened to Elías Bidón, all along the whole geography of Spain, and in dozens of different flats: he always was obliged to leave, because his smells were insufferable: Elías Bidón lived in 47 different provinces, out of the 50 that Spain has.
When he was 70, notwithstanding he was an old person, Elías Bidón used to drink an average of 55-60 litres of coffee a day, quite a brutal amount of liquid and coffeine that he kept on swallowing on a daily basis, and which would have been lethal for any living being: not for him.
Finally Elías Bidón was expulsed of Spain, and at the age of 80 found refuge in a southern city of France called Bordeaux. By those times, Bidón won the EuroMillions, un jeu de loterie joué chaque semaine le vendredi par des millions de Euros, and also won 21.000.000 € of the Loterias y Apuestas del Estado in Spain and Camelot in the United Kingdom: with this golpe de suerte, Elías Bidón amassed 31.000.000 €, and at the age of 81, he bought the whole building where he lived: the neighbors sold their flats willingly, because they couldn't stand the smell anymore.
But something strange, something obscure; something totally unexpected started happening in the physiognomy of Elías Bidón...lately, the Elías Bidón's experiments went too far: besides of garlic, tangerines and many other things, he started adding other things to his bacchanalia of boiling coffees: grease, chicken, toronjas, bacon, grapes, banana, fromage à pâte molle, vin de Carcassone, sweet potato, azafrán, Irish whiskey, pate de foie gras, tapiocca, french fries, Argentinean churrasco or putrid magdalenas were just some of the ingredients he started adding to his coffee...one day he even added bleach to the coffee...
At the peak of his extravagant coffeine orgies, one night while sleeping, Elías Bidón had a tremendous nightmare: he dreamt hat he was...first his legs, then his torso, then his arms...he was...
Elías Coffee woke up in a shout.
He walked to the kitchen, he needed some coffee.
As his orgiastic Saturnalias of rancid coffees kept going on
like a cassette of days and days and days and days.
Like a coffee of days and days and days and days...Elías Bidón added -even- more fury and ingredients to his cafés: ñame (an African exotic sort of sweet potato?), teff (a strange mix of tea and coffee from Sudan?), mandioca (sort of sweet potato from Paraguay?), ass of gnu (I think that the gnu is like a buffalo from South Africa?), yerba mate or hierba mathé (a lethal infusion drank in Îles Malouines), Bof (fried lungs of monkey prepared in Papua New Guinea), chanvre, patchouly, morfina, ajonjolí, asbestos, blood of pork, ricotta, eau lourde, saucisson Espagnol, cheesecake, mayonnaise, shepherd's pie de Londres, shepherd's pie de Escocia, cottage cheese and cider.
At this stage, his days turned into an insatiable orgy of coffe and the most insane ingredients, and as he used to drink almost 70 litres of coffee a day, his mental sanity finally was broken, and he started murmuring and talking alone, he grumbled and growled strange words, always the same words: "femme très méchante, harpie, mégère, sorcière, harengère, teigne, gorgone, tigresse, femme violente, je suis très en colère, eh, eh! Pute! Merde! Cul a terre!"
Etc.
Very, very strange words indeed.
One day nobody saw Elías Bidón anymore, he stopped going to buy his coffee and his garlic, and many things he used to buy: someone reported to the police that in the Elías Bidón's building members of ETA stored explosives; and a judge granted the police a search warrant for the house...they were ringing the bell of Bidón for a while but nobody replied, then they entered by force.
Arriving at the Elías Bidón's door, 4 officers knocked his door.
The silence echoed, nobody replied...the smell was insurmountably repugnant:
entering by force at his flat, the policemen screamed with horror:
a wooden man, or a coffe tree with human shape, it was seated on a chair, stammering, babbling, almost immobile but still alive; his head looked like a brown pumpkin: his eyes were two red, small and shiny coffee cherries that shined in the dark, in front of a dark mirror.
.
found in "THE THIRD ADVENT"...
... a reference to a 12th century Christian mystic's diagrams of spiritual life.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
CARTA A UN ESTUDIANTE DE FOTOGRAFÍA
"Todos somos estudiantes, algunos lo son por más tiempo que otros más experimentados. Cuando dejéis de ser estudiantes, puede que dejéis de estar vivos en lo que concierne al sentido de vuestro trabajo. Por lo tanto hablo desde estudiante a estudiante. Quiero deciros, pues, que antes de dedicar tiempo a la fotografía (que por otro lado os tomará mucho) pensad hasta que punto es importante para cada uno de vosotros.
-Si lo que realmente perseguís es pintar u otra cosa, entonces no fotografiéis, salvo que se trate de pura diversión. La fotografía no es un atajo para llegar a la pintura, para llegar a ser artista o para cualquier otra cosa. Por otro lado si la cámara y sus materiales os fascina y motiva vuestra energía y vuestro respeto, aprended a fotografiar. Descubrid primero que puede hacer esta cámara y estos materiales sin ninguna interferencia, únicamente con vuestra propia visión. Fotografiad un árbol, una máquina, una mesa, cualquier trasto viejo; hacedlo una y otra vez modificando la luz. Observad lo que registra vuestra película, descubrid los resultados que se obtienen con los distintos tipos de papel y gradaciones. Las diferencias de color que pueden obtenerse utilizando uno u otro revelador y en que forma estas diferencias cambian la expresividad de la imagen. El campo es ilimitado, inagotable, sin salir de las fronteras naturales del medio. En resumen trabajad, experimentad y olvidaros del Arte, del pictorialismo y de otras palabras en mayor o menor grado carentes de sentido.
-Ved libros de autor, exposiciones, por lo menos conoceréis lo que han hecho los fotógrafos. Y observad también críticamente lo que se este haciendo en general y lo que cada uno de vosotros realiza ahora. Algunos han dicho que Stieglitz tenia fuerza porque hipnotizaba a sus modelos. Id y mirad lo que ha hecho con sus nubes; descubrid si sus poderes hipnóticos se extendían también sobre los elementos. Observad todas estas cosas. Ved que significan para vosotros; asimilad lo que podáis y olvidaros del resto. Sobre todo mirad las cosas que os rodean, vuestro mundo inmediato. Si estáis vivos significara algo para vosotros, y si os interesáis lo suficiente por la fotografía y sabéis como usarla querréis fotografiar ese significado.
-Si permitís que la visión de otra gente se interponga entre el mundo y vuestra propia visión conseguiréis algo ordinario y sin sentido: una fotografía pictorialista. Pero si conserváis esta visión clara, conseguiréis algo que por lo menos será una fotografía con vida propia, al igual que un árbol o una caja de cerillas, siempre que creáis que estas cosas tienen vida propia. Para conseguir esto no existen atajos, ni formulas, ni reglas; únicamente en todo caso las que rigen la vida de cada uno. Sin embargo, es necesaria la autocrítica mas rigurosa y el trabajo constante. Pero primero aprended a fotografiar. Para mí esto constituye ya un problema sin fin."
Paul Strand
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
INVERTIR EN FOTOGRAFÍA
¿Quién le iba a decir al joven fotógrafo Bernice Lovett cuando en 1927 adquirio, por 10 dólares que pago a plazos de 50 centimos, la obra de Edward Weston "Nautilus Shell"; que se subastaría en Shoteby's por un precio de 1 millon de dólares?. Desde luego que le ha supuesto una muy buena inversión. Esto lo cuento para animar a todo el mundo a invertir comprando obra fotográfica.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Just another Palm Springs sunset ...
Ah, yeah,..... there's beauty everywhere, mighty tasty...
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
From "Chernobyl" 20 yrs later ....
A disintegrating armored vehicle looks much less menacing in this overgrown planter.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Go-Kart in Golden City
Filling the holiday not only looking for entertainment. Also by the exercising courage in the arena go-kart. Go-Kart circuit in Golden City Area Tourism could become a place to test your nerve. The condition must be aged over 12 years.
This location is situated in Bengkong Laut, Batam. To be able to play go-kart, it takes courage, agility, and high balls. We must not hesitate of fear. It's just that, run the go-kart just press on the accelerator and brake.
Only about Sin $2 for one lap or about Sin $14 for 10 minutes. No need to pay admission. Other facilities at the Golden City is a mini-jeep. Only about Sin $3 per lap. Others are Banana Boat, Water Bike, and at war with the Paint Ball.
In this tourist complex is also available food center which provides various delicious food.
This location is situated in Bengkong Laut, Batam. To be able to play go-kart, it takes courage, agility, and high balls. We must not hesitate of fear. It's just that, run the go-kart just press on the accelerator and brake.
Only about Sin $2 for one lap or about Sin $14 for 10 minutes. No need to pay admission. Other facilities at the Golden City is a mini-jeep. Only about Sin $3 per lap. Others are Banana Boat, Water Bike, and at war with the Paint Ball.
In this tourist complex is also available food center which provides various delicious food.
Holiday shopping and spa in Batam
In addition to shopping paradise, Batam tour massage is also an option for tourists. The price is cheaper, than the neighboring countries and a choice of quite a lot. For example, in Nagoya Hill, Lucky Plaza and Mega Mall. Batam is still relying on tourism shopping and spa treatment. Spa and massage using high quality spices favored by visitors from Malaysia and Singapore.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
yummmy colors .....
top of the line in spraycan paints ... my imagination runs WILD !!!
From the ARTISAN, Santa Fe
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
pretty in the snow...
... treacherous to the nose [pollen-wise]
NM Chimiso(sp?) bad-ass ragweed blooms in winter snow!
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
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